


Howling Wind / Stinging Rain

by bbluejoseph



Series: The Joshua Tree [7]
Category: Trench - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Animal Death, Arson, Bad Weather, Established Relationship, F, Fire, Fog, M/M, Nobody Dies, a vulture eats it im sorry, joshler feb minibang, more to come - Freeform, some elements of peril, unrelated but go listen to arsonists lullabye its a bop, weather phenomenons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbluejoseph/pseuds/bbluejoseph
Summary: Something was very wrong.
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Series: The Joshua Tree [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1487714
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	1. Fire.

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter is part one of four that I am writing for a challenge I made on tumblr, the joshler feb minibang! there's still time if you want to participate!! the prompt for the challenge is four, and the word count should be at least 800 words. if you post anything about the challenge, use the tag #joshler feb minibang so other people can find it! 
> 
> I know I should technically be waiting until the due date (feb 29) to post this, but the tag is SO EMPTY lately, it's like a wasteland :/ so I'm gonna post this as a sort of teaser for the rest of the story
> 
> also I have no fucking clue where this is in the bio timeline, but nico is 100% toasted at this point

Something was coming. Tyler didn’t know what, exactly. But he could taste it in the air, hear it in the faint rumble beyond the tumbling cliffs and deep valleys of Trench.

Josh didn’t seem concerned. He looked tired--he was always tired these days, they all were, what with getting the refugees from Nico’s district settled--but he looked happy, too. He held Tyler’s hand, listened to the other banditos’ stories; a smile graced his face, gracing Tyler’s heart in return.

Tonight was a good night. He tried to push his apprehension aside, put it to rest, but the rumbling was gradually growing closer, and the smell of water, heavy, was impossible to ignore. 

Clancy seemed on edge, too. His eyes were sharp, face turned away from the fire, towards the wind. Tyler knew it was his task to watch the fire, to make sure it kept burning. He also knew that Clancy took this task very seriously. But whatever was bothering Tyler, whatever was coming? Clancy could sense it, too. 

Tyler jumped when someone nudged his arm. Josh was looking at him, face soft. “Ready to turn in?”

He felt too on edge to sleep, but nodded anyway. They got to their feet, bid the others goodnight, and slipped into their tent.

It was better, there. The smell was less noticeable, and the rumbling seemed far away. Tyler changed into his sleeping clothes in turn, lay beside Josh in their mess of blankets. 

At last, the bandito seemed to notice that something was wrong. Josh put a hand on Tyler’s arm; Tyler couldn’t see his face in the dark, but could picture his frown, his brow scrunched up in concern. “You feeling okay?”

Tyler took a moment to answer, and when he did, it wasn’t exactly direct. “The air smells different. And there’s a noise to the North. A rumbling.”

He felt Josh shift around, getting comfortable, then his lips pressed into Tyler’s hair. “It’s a thunderstorm.”

The word was vaguely familiar, pulling at a loose thread in his mind. He recognized the feeling. Memories of before Dema, things outside of it that he must have known once. The definition was lost to him, however. “Thunderstorm?”

“It rains.” Josh hummed. Tyler recalled his first rain in Trench; it had been light, more of a drizzle, but it was exhilarating. “And there’s lightning. Big bolts of electricity that strike the ground. The rumbling is thunder; it’s the noise lightning makes.”

Tyler tucked the blanket up to his chin. “Will it strike here?”

“Probably not.” Josh’s voice was slow, sleepy. “It usually gets the cliffs, since they’re high up. We’re pretty low in the valley.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.” Josh tossed an arm around Tyler’s waist, settling at last. “It’ll be alright. We need the rain, besides.”

This, Tyler knew, was true. The heat of summer had been particularly scorching, drying up much of the foliage in Trench. It was harder for the banditos to gather food, which was important when they couldn’t get food from the city. The creek had also gotten rather low, and some of the rebels had begun to fret that it would dry up completely. 

The rain, he supposed, would help with all of this. Summer must be drawing to a close, surely. It would rain, and the plants would grow, and the creek would fill, and Tyler would wake in the night to the soft sound of water pattering on the tent roof.

Despite himself, he yawned, and realized that he was more tired than he’d previously thought. The promise of rain, the warmth of the blankets, and Josh snuggled up to his side had all comforted him, at least enough to let him rest. Tyler’s eyelids drooped, then closed.

His sleep was still and peaceful for quite some time. About halfway through the night, however, his dreams began to be invaded by an unusual scent. It was bitter, acrid, and vaguely familiar, but in his tired state, he was unable to place it.

A shaking was what woke him. This wasn’t a pushing at his shoulder, the usual way Josh woke him in the mornings. This was a grabbing, a rough movement. Tyler struggled awake; despite the scent, he had been sleeping deeply.

“Tyler, please, you have to get up!” Josh’s voice, frantic, and then he was being pulled into a sitting position. Tyler’s eyes shot open.

Something was very wrong. The scent from his dreams was overpowering, clogging his throat and making his eyes itch. There was the sound of movement from outside the tent, people running from the camp. Most ominous of all was the crackling sound in the distance, not upon them yet, but growing gradually louder.

“We have to go,” Josh said quickly, pulling at Tyler’s arm again. His eyes were wide; for the first time, he looked desperate.

Tyler scrambled to his feet, and the two banditos quickly pushed through the tent flap. The scent was even worse out here; as Tyler began to cough, he realized that it was smoke, much like the stuff that floated up from the campfire. This smoke was heavier, dark enough to obscure the tents on the other side of camp. Ash was blowing through the air, embers dancing up into the sky like tiny red stars.

Even as Josh was tugging him away from the camp, Tyler could see it. There was something in the distance, bright and jumping, crackling and popping and creeping closer and closer. With a jolt of terror, Tyler realized it was fire.

Before he could react, before he could ask Josh what was going on, the other bandito was whipping something out of his pocket, tying it around the bottom half of Tyler’s face; his bandana. To Tyler’s dismay, he pushed him away from him, towards the dark opposite the fire. “Go with the others! I’ll catch up!” Josh ran, then, back into the camp, and disappeared into the smoke.

Panic grabbed at Tyler’s throat, and he coughed, sharp with the smoke. This fire was dangerous, that much was clear; Josh wouldn’t send him away alone unless it were. As much as Tyler wanted to run from the flames, he couldn’t leave Josh. 

Inhaling shakily, Tyler tightened the bandana around his face and raced into the camp. 

The fire was close enough for him to feel its heat, licking at the scrubgrass that ringed the outer tents. The wind was powerful; Tyler was sure that any moment, the fire would overcome the camp completely.

His heart raced as he ran to their tent, but it was empty. A flash of green out of the corner of his eye, then, and Tyler turned to see Josh stumbling out of one of the tents, coughing. A gust of wind came, then, pushing at the fire, and he screamed Josh’s name.

There was no time to ask him why he’d rushed back into the camp. Tyler grabbed his arm and dragged him away, in the direction he’d seen the others flee. No sooner than he did, the fire broke through the scrubgrass, enveloping the nearest tents in flame. 

Tyler didn’t know how long they ran, but it felt like hours. The smoke was thinner the further they got from the fire, but they were both still coughing; especially Josh, who seemed as if he couldn’t catch his breath. He wanted to stop, to rest and try to figure out where the other banditos were, but he couldn’t. There was only one thing Tyler knew, in that moment--that they had to keep running, even when they couldn’t run anymore.

The night air was so cold, so bitter, compared to the heat of the flames.

Finally, the fire was far behind them; far enough, anyway, that they could pause. The crackling was too distant to be heard, although Tyler could still see the tongues of flame licking at the sky, taller than any man.

The creek was a few paces away, and shallow as it was, Tyler was grateful for it. Josh seemed exhausted, but even so, he stumbled to the edge of the water and fell to his knees, dipping his hands in the water and pouring it into his mouth. Pulling the bandana from his face, Tyler did the same, and immediately felt a difference.

He drank several mouthfuls before helping Josh to his feet. Leading him to a large stone near the edge of the creek, he sat him down and dipped the bandana in the water, wringing it out over the pebbles on the shore. Crouching next to Josh, Tyler tried to wipe some of the ash from his face.

He was relieved to hear that Josh was no longer coughing, but his breath now came in short wheezes. Tyler frowned, but didn’t bring it up; there was nothing he could do about it for now.

“Why did you go back?”

Josh took a moment to reply; Tyler would have worried that he hadn’t heard him, if not for the slow, acknowledging blink of his eyes. There was tiny flecks of cinders in his eyelashes.

His voice came out croaking when he finally spoke. “Had to make sure everyone got out.”

They rested for just a moment longer, Tyler cleaning both of their faces as much as he could, then tying the bandana around the bottom half of Josh’s face; he was both relieved and concerned when the bandito didn’t protest.

Tyler felt bad, but he couldn’t let them stay; the fire was still moving. He took Josh’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “Do you know where the others were heading?”

“The ridge.” Josh coughed, then shook his head as if to clear it, and pointed in the direction they needed to go. Tyler stepped into the creek, following his hand.

They went on. The rumbling had grown closer, and Tyler could see flashes of lightning; he began to worry that the banditos on the cliffs would be struck by it. 

If he had the choice, which would he choose--fire from the earth, or fire from the sky?

As they approached the ridge at last, Tyler could see the figures of shapes in the dark, mingling not at the top, but by the bottom. As he grew closer, he saw the faintest flickering of light, almost seeming to be inside the ridge itself.

The banditos he saw seemed just as battered as he and Josh; their clothes were speckled with ash, their wide eyes glinting in the near dark. Coughs filled the air, some promisingly strong, while others fearfully weak.

The ridge had a rather large overhang, under which the banditos were sheltered from the sky. As Tyler led Josh forward, he saw the source of the light. Clancy was sitting at the very center of the ridge, holding Josh’s lighter in his hand. 

The boy’s hair was sticking up at all angles, face streaked with soot. His eyes were distant, unfocused, but he seemed somehow steady in the chaos of the makeshift camp. 

Thunder abruptly crashed above them, lightning flashing up the area and causing several banditos to shriek or gasp with fright. It was the final piece, the final warning of the storm, and as the clouds churned above, a heavy rain began to fall at last.

Clancy finally turned his eyes to the banditos who had collapsed beside him. Josh was leaning rather hard into Tyler’s shoulder, exhausted, and Tyler was shaking from cold and the knowledge that they, all of them, had scarcely escaped death that night.

The flame of the lighter flickered in Clancy’s hand, but didn’t go out. The boy signed with one hand, expression unreadable.

‘This was no accident.’


	2. Fog.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The earth seemed to end only a few feet ahead, beyond which, there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot this fic existed for a hot sec but i have returned :)

The dark was not frightening, no. Not as it had once been. Now it concealed him, kept him safe from prying eyes.

Tyler stayed still for a moment, inhaling and exhaling the cool air of the tunnel before reaching out. His fingers brushed the rocky walls, and carefully, he began to walk, trailing his hand along the wall as a guide.

Months had passed since the fire in camp. The banditos had taken to a new area, a valley at the bottom of a set of steep cliffs. It was harder to get to than the old camp, but they all knew that as difficult as it was for a bandito to reach the camp by foot, it'd be near impossible for a bishop on a horse.

The new camp was crowded, not only with low shrubs and trees, but refugees from Nico's district. They were integrating into life as rebels, slowly, yes, but surely; some of them even were relearning to speak. But with the new additions, there were many more mouths to feed. With over half of the supplies in the old camp burned beyond use, and summer quickly turning to fall, food was becoming harder to come by. Already, Tyler had seen a few of the physically strong banditos giving up their suppers for the young and the ill.

Just last night, Josh had stopped eating his can of soup before it was even finished. Subtly, Tyler took a glance and saw that it was only half empty. 

"I'm not really hungry," Josh said, which Tyler knew was a lie. "Does anyone else want the rest of mine?"

Tyler opened his mouth to protest, but Clancy butted in before he could. 

'That's a load of shit', Clancy signed. He'd been sitting on Tyler's other side, but now he leaned forward, hands moving quickly. 'I know what you're doing, but you're still not fully healed yet. You need to keep your strength up before you can start making sacrifices.'

It scared Tyler to see the way Clancy phrased it. Like he knew sacrifices were inevitable.

"He's right," he said, unwilling to think on that now. "You need to stay strong. I'm sure you'll be on your feet in no time."

"I'm already on my feet," Josh protested, but he picked up his spoon again, and Tyler knew he had given in. "You two just keep babying me."

'I'm your medic, he's your boyfriend,' Clancy deadpanned. 'I'm not sure what you expected.'

Tyler smiled, Josh snorted, and the conversation ended there.

Josh had been the last bandito to leave camp the night of the fire. He'd inhaled a lot of smoke, rushing back in to make sure everyone got out, and his lungs had paid the price.

Ever since, if he exercised too much, or too rigorously, he'd start to wheeze. Thus, Clancy had kept him mostly in camp, allowing him to take on some minor tasks, but nothing big, and certainly nothing in the city.  
The past few weeks, he'd seemed to have been recovering. He didn't wheeze so much, and he seemed stronger than he had been. He'd gone on a few trips through trench, but nothing intense yet. 

Tyler couldn't help worrying about him. He kept a close eye on Josh if he was moving around, and he made sure he was taking care of himself properly.

That last part, he supposed, was part of why he'd been in the city tonight. 

After food stores began to drop lower and lower, the banditos finally agreed to send a party to Dema, to investigate the supplies they had in the warehouses. The rebels had always taken a few supplies here and there, but soon they would grow desperate. The bishops tended to be prepared for lots of dangerous situations, and having food stocked up for hard times was certainly not unlikely.

It had been Tyler's mission--and the mission of a few others--to go into the districts and cause a distraction. Grafitti was the preferred option.

Tyler liked graffiti. He was an amateur at it, for sure, but he'd spray painted the wall once with Jenna, and he was ready to volunteer to carry out the task again.

It had been frightening, being in the city alone. If Nico weren't dead, he didn't think he would be able to do it.

But he was. And he did.

Now, with a simple 'east is up' spray painted on the side of his old living complex, Tyler's mission was complete. Relief loosened his breaths as he walked to the end of the tunnel. 

There was no one waiting there for him. Only one bandito needed to go into each district for each distraction, and so he had taken much his journey alone.

Fortunately, he wasn't as alone as he could be. Clancy had given Josh a checkup that morning, and deemed him healthy enough to wait for Tyler and the other vandals by a tall, twisted tree, long dead. It was up high, meaning it should be easy for Tyler to see the bright flame of his torch, and follow it to the source.

Unfortunately, he wasn't so lucky.

As he grew nearer and nearer to the tunnel exit, Tyler realized the air wasn't just cooler than usual; it seemed damp, almost heavy. Feeling slightly uncertain, he went on until he had stepped out into the open air.

There was a thick gray covering, like a cloud, settled as far as Tyler could see -- which wasn't very far. The air was definitely wet, there were already tiny droplets on his jacket. 

The earth seemed to end only a few feet ahead, beyond which, there was nothing.

It must have been fog. Clancy had mentioned that it would be foggy tonight, leading Josh to be the beacon for the lone banditos. But he hadn't said it would be this bad.

Tyler hadn't actually experienced fog before, but he'd heard Josh talk about it. He knew it wasn't dangerous in itself, but it rendered much climbing impossible; the cliffs became slippery, and it was very difficult to tell which way you were going, much less see your next foothold.

So climbing was out, at least for the moment. 

Tyler took a breath of the cold air to keep himself focused. He would be just fine, as long as he was careful where he walked. There were coyotes and bobcats in Trench, but they usually steered clear of the banditos. If worse came to worse and he was unable to find his way home, he could stay put until the sun rose and the fog burned off. 

Logic could be comforting in frightening times. Tyler took another breath, and started walking.

He knew the route to the old camp well enough, but this was an entirely new one. Instead of heading straight, he went left, walking carefully a few yards from the wall surrounding Dema. One of the paths to camp was along this way, narrow enough to be unnoticeable if a bishop came along.

Perhaps it did its job too well. Tyler walked on and on, but in the fog, the grasses and shrubs seemed to grow heavy with water, making the terrain look a bit different. The fog itself was also a problem. Since Tyler was walking slower than usual to avoid injury, he had no idea approximately when he would reach the trail.

After a while, the grass turned to pebbles not unlike those of the creek, and the sound of trickling water could be heard. Tyler knew he was lost.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he stopped for a moment to rest. His hair was damp, as his jacket had no hood, and he ran his hand through it a few times to comb some of the water out. Wiping his hands on his pants, which were also wet, did nothing to dry them.

A sudden noise started Tyler, a clattering of movement on the rocks. He froze, not daring to move, until he heard it again. It wasn't heavy like footsteps or hoofbeats.

A little croaking noise, more clattering. He began to have a hunch what the cause of the noise was, but there was only one way to find out.

Creeping closer as quietly as he could, Tyler slowly began to see what was before him. A good-sized drainage pipe stuck out from midway down the wall, cloaked in barbed wire to deter animals -- or escapees. Water was trickling from the pipe to a shallow pool full of nasty looking water.

On Tyler's side of the pool, a vulture was crouched on the rocks, tearing into something. Curious, he went closer.

The vulture turned its head, having heard him,and let out an unpleasant hiss before hopping away. 

Judging by the fact that it didn't take off then and there, Tyler assumed it hadn't gone far.

Vultures were the one animal that the bishops allowed to pass from the city to the outside. They sat on the walls, generally just observing the citizens and unnerving them. The bishops thrived on unnerving their people; it gave them just the tiniest bit more control.

Tyler realized with a sinking heart that he recognized the vulture's meal. It was a cat, black, and it looked horribly skinny. He knew there were a few feral strays around in the city to control the rodent populations, but how did it get out here? Had it crawled through the drainage pipe? Why?

His question was answered with a very soft, almost inaudible cry. Tyler froze, waiting, until he heard it again, following it a few paces away to a nook between two larger rocks.

Nestled there, between the boulders, was a tiny black kitten.

It was shivering, its thin fur puffed out in a feeble attempt to keep it warm, and its eyes were shut tight. From a faint, uncertain place in the back of his mind, Tyler remembered that mother cats often wandered off to have their babies in a more private location. This one's mother must have done just that, but for whatever reason, she wasn't strong enough to make it in the wild. 

But the kitten was still alive. It was tiny and hungry and crying for its mother. It would die without help.

Without any further hesitation, Tyler reached into the nook and picked up the kitten. It squeaked in protest, but didn't struggle; it was too weak. He'd have to feed it soon, or it would starve.

He cradles the kitten to his chest, under his jacket, and it quieted in response to his body heat. It was black like its mother, with big paws and greasy fur. He'd have to give it a bath, too.

He couldn't do that if he couldn't get back to camp, however. He'd have to find the trail. Without any further pause, Tyler turned and headed in the direction from whence he'd came.

By the time the fog started to clear, Tyler was pretty sure he was on the right path. He'd taken to talking to the kitten in a quiet voice, hoping it might keep them both calm. He -- Tyler had decided the kitten was a boy -- was half asleep by the time Tyler saw the glow of a torch in the distance.

Relief washed over him, and he hurried towards it. As he got closer, he could see that the other remaining vandals had arrived safely. Jenna was holding the torch, while Josh looked antsy, pacing back and forth, fingers curling and uncurling on his sweatshirt strings.

The moment he saw Tyler, his whole face lit up, and he quickly rushed forward. Tyler wanted nothing more than to step into his arms, but he leaned back, his precious cargo still in his jacket.

"Are you okay? I figured you were just waiting out the fog, but I was so worried," Josh babbled. 

Tyler said nothing, simply pulling aside one flap of his jacket to reveal the kitten.

Josh stopped talking and stared at him. "Where the hell did you get that?"

"It's a long story, but he needs food. Do we still have baby formula from the last raid?" Tyler chewed his bottom lip worriedly; one of the refugees from Nico's had a young child, and they'd had to find the formula for it.

Josh blinked. By now, the other banditos had gathered around to see the animal in Tyler's arms. "Um, I don't know. Probably. Are you serious?"

"I wouldn't leave him out there by himself." Tyler slipped one hand into Josh's, holding the kitten in the other. "Like you wouldn't leave me."

Josh was quiet for a second as the group made their way back to camp. "You never smelled like a sewer," he pointed out. 

Tyler scoffed and held Jason -- that was his name, something he remembered from before Dema -- closer to his chest. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks."


	3. Snow.

Even in the tent, Tyler could see his breath. It clouded in front of his face like fog, making him recall his lonely mission a few months ago.

The small black shape curled up in his lap was another reminder. It hadn't been easy -- especially after the food supplies started getting low -- but Tyler had kept Jason alive. He fed him, kept him warm, and played with him as he got older. He wasn't fully grown yet, of course, but he seemed healthy and the other banditos tolerated him at the very least. Some of them cared for Jason just as much as he did.

Any other day, the little black cat would be up and about, climbing on the woodpile or poking his head into the scattered tents. Lately, though, Jason had taken to just huddling in the tent with Tyler; he had to, in order to stay warm.

It had started snowing a week ago. Just lightly, at first, but progressing with heavier winds and a big drop in temperature. Today, and the past five days as well, Tyler had woken to find several feet of snow outside the tent, and it was still growing.

Not that anyone was doing much work, anyway. With the cold and lack of food, the banditos tired more easily. There wasn't much that needed to be done, anyway; there was no food to harvest or supplies to assemble. With the snowstorm, even the campfire was gone. Clancy now spent his days in one of the near empty supply tents, watching the flicker of the lighter in his hand.

If only they had more food, Tyler might feel more optimistic. The big mission to the city, the one that gave him Jason, had ultimately been a failure. The group sent to find the emergency rations found that almost all of them were already eaten. 

Conditions in the city were deteriorating rapidly, with little food and blatant violence from the bishops.  
At least, Tyler had assumed so. Nobody had been able to go to the city for a while now. Winter, he had been told, was almost a time of truce, though of course it had its own costs.

He spent his days in the tent with Josh and Jason, cuddled together to preserve body heat. There wasn't much else he could do, but it didn't matter; they were all tired anyway, and they spent a lot of time sleeping.

The scarce sound of footsteps drew Tyler from his worries, and the flap of the tent pushed open, blowing a gust of cold air inside. Tyler pulled the blanket over the cat for a second to keep him warm, while Josh stepped inside and sealed the tent up again.

He was barely recognizable, what with all the clothes he was wearing. His lower face was covered by his bandana, the top of his head by a knit cap and his hood. Josh's body was shrouded with a jacket, sweatshirt, two shirts, two pairs of pants, boots, and three pairs of socks -- two for his feet and one for his hands, acting as gloves. Tyler wore the same thing, most of the time, save for the bandana, jacket, and boots. He didn't leave the tent much these days.

Tyler stayed still, watching as Josh took off some of his outer layers. Even without so many clothes on, Josh looked different than he had a few months ago. He wasn't just thinner; there was a look in his eyes, or perhaps a lack of one, that betrayed an ache that Tyler felt echoed in himself.

After unlacing his boots, Josh took a few steps over and crouched on the blankets at Tyler's side, pressing a gentle but solemn kiss to his cheek. He took out his pocketknife and smiled faintly. "Peaches or pears?"

Everyone was down to a can of food a day. It was enough to survive, and Tyler knew stretching their supplies was important, but that didn't make his stomach any happier about it.

"You pick," Tyler said. Josh took the pears.

After prying off the lids with the knife, they bent them into makeshift spoons, and ate. They were supposed to try to make it last as long as they could, eating a little bit throughout the day. Tyler was tempted to eat the whole thing in one go, but he knew he'd regret it later if he did. After eating a quarter of the peaches, he tried to sate his remaining hunger by taking little sips of the juice that preserved the fruit.

He pretended not to notice how little Josh ate of his pears, because there wasn't much he could do about it.

After their 'meal', Josh crawled under the covers and shut his eyes. Tyler knew he wasn't sleeping, just taking a minute to himself. He kept quiet.

After a few minutes, Josh opened his eyes again, reaching out, fingers curling into the side of Tyler's sweatshirt to pull him closer. Carefully setting his peaches aside, Tyler laid down next to him. He was careful not to disturb Jason, who was asleep on the pillow.

"How are the kids?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Josh brushed a loose bit of hair away from Tyler's forehead; the latter ducked his head slightly to let Josh start carding his fingers through his hair. "Cold. They're eating, everyone's seeing to that. They know something's wrong, but I don't think they understand."

While the banditos were mainly comprised of adults, them being the majority of the Deman population, there were a few children. Most of them were refugees from the city, with their parents. Others had been born in Trench. In any case, they were of particular importance to the rebels. They had to have enough to eat, they had to be warm, even if it meant the adults would go hungry for a while.

Josh, Tyler knew, had checked on the kids every day during the storm. He also suspected, but was unable to prove, that Josh was giving up some of his food for them.

He'd tried to give it to Tyler, a few times, but he had refused.

They laid together for a few moments, Josh repeatedly petting Tyler's hair. It was silent.

Tyler missed other times. He missed when they would laugh, when they would share looks that only they understood. He missed the warmth glowing through his whole body when Josh touched his hand. He missed when they would lazily make out after dinner, their bellies full and their hearts fuller. 

Now they looked, now they kissed, now they touched; but the looks were full of misery, the kisses weary, and the touches cold. 

Tyler tucked his head under Josh's chin. Spring. They just had to wait until spring.


End file.
